


I'll be there (just call my name)

by hurricaneharmony



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricaneharmony/pseuds/hurricaneharmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Mom, not every guy is just gonna leave you. He wants to be with you. Us. He wants us to be his home."</i><br/> </p><p>People leave. Always. That was Emma Swan's rule, her motto, her reality. Whether they're torn from you or they shove you away or they give you up even though it hurts, they never stay.</p><p>But Hook hasn't gone anywhere- in fact, she can't seem to escape him. He's always there, and she can't tell if her chest feels pressurized and ready to explode because he's absolutely <i>infuriating</i> or because she wants to grab fistfuls of leather and crush herself into him. </p><p>What was he <i>doing</i> to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be there (just call my name)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Emma Swan, Killian Jones, or Henry Mills. I wish I did.
> 
> I'd so love to hear from you, whether it's feedback or just for fun, at colourfulmoniker-hook.tumblr.com

He was always there. Ever since he'd found her, his presence was always near enough that she couldn't shake the thought of him being just a little closer, but far enough to let her close the gap by her choice. And she couldn’t tell if her chest felt pressurized and about to explode because he was absolutely _infuriating_ or because she was so grateful that for once, there was someone who she knew wasn’t going anywhere. And she was so confused- did she want to shove him away or grab a fistful of his jacket and crush herself into him? What was he _doing_ to her?

He was there in New York, when she couldn't remember him and all he'd had for a year was remembering- over and over at night repeating her name and recalling her voice, the colour of her hair, her lean muscles and the rare moment when her brows would lift and her lips would part and her eyes would search his desperately for a lie, but found none. He was there, a stranger at her apartment, rambling nonsense about curses and family and he kissed her- and for a split second she leaned in, like kissing him was something she was accustomed to, like she'd done it a thousand times before and had waited too long to do it again.

He was there at her date with her boyfriend- _god_ , he was _always_ there. She couldn't shake him. And when this insane stalker told her that he knew her better than she knew herself- if only for a second- she felt like he did. Like he could read her silently and understand, although Walsh was always nagging her to just _“come on, Emma, I can handle it. Just tell me what’s wrong. You can say it. Talk to me.”_

He was there at the park and on a sidewalk in front of a prison, both times only a breath away, a small purple vial held out between them. _"Perhaps there's a man that you love in the life that you've lost"_ , he'd said quickly, hesitantly, honestly. And he was there. A man who was fighting for her, who knew her so well that she could never seem to take him by surprise-even by arresting him- who loved her when she didn't even know him. In another life, maybe he had been there too. Maybe they were soulmates - best friends and lovers. Maybe she was already married and she didn't even know it? And he was there, and his eyes were so blue and so honest and silently pleading _"please, remember me"_ in a voice that resonated all too familiarly in her chest- so she tilted the vial to her lips and closed her eyes.

He was there when she opened them again with a gasp of breath and an ache in her chest that was all the more painful after a year's break from it. His gaze was pleading and terrified and desperate- and then _lovelovelove_ when she whispered his name. _"Did you miss me?"_ He'd asked playfully- and how could she ever explain that somehow, she did?

He was there when the man(?) she almost married turned into a _freaking flying monkey_ and attacked her, calling her name and drawing her back to him from the edge of the rooftop. He was there in her apartment that night, on the couch just outside her bedroom- curled into a blanket that she’d tucked around Henry so many times once he’d grown too much to carry him to bed after falling asleep on the couch. _(How many of those times were real? How much of it was a lie? Friday night movies, where she’d cover his eyes and he’d groan in disgust as the couples kissed, and she’d kiss his forehead when the movie lulled him to sleep. All those nights when Henry was three and crawled into her bed with tears in his eyes, when he stood bouncing on a kitchen chair with a toothless grin as he “helped” her make breakfast- when the “Mommy, you’re hurting the eggs!” joke was born-, the day he’d first walked, tumbling down the hallway and into her arms, drooling and giggling and she could have cried, she was so proud. Lies.)_ She squeezed her eyes shut, hard. She left her door open just a crack- so if she rolled onto her side and leaned over, she could see his hair peeking over the arm of the couch, and tell herself that he is real, and he is there. And when she finally fell asleep, he forced his eyes open just a little longer, long enough to listen to her breathing from the other room and convince himself that yes, she really is here.

He was there on the four hour drive back, as her left knee bounced in impatience and nerves-of course not because he was right beside her, watching her intently with a little smile that turned into a smirk when she caught his eye.

He was there every moment since they returned- as they discussed the witch and their missing memories and reunited with the townspeople. He was always somewhere in the room when she'd talk in low tones in the corner farthest from him, telling person after person after person: "Hook saved me." 

He was there in the woods, feet crunching through twigs and snow right behind her. And when he asked about the proposal, he sounded so hurt and small that she had to answer, with all the fury she'd suppressed since it happened.  
And he was there, a heartbeat away, telling her that her heart can still feel, his eyes pleading _"let me in, let me love you."_  
Her eyes tried to tell him _"I wish I could."_

He was there at the funeral, his shoulder touching hers just enough that she could feel its warmth but not its pressure. His left arm was bent across his body in a way that made his stiff false hand seem to be reaching for her, waiting for her to take it. She was grateful that he didn't come too close- but she almost wished he would. 

He was there in the diner, suddenly- his chest against her back and his breath in her hair as she threw another dart- like Graham did so long ago. His eyes were wide and insistent, telling her how he's tried this before, it'll only ruin her, don't let it happen. And her breath caught in her throat because when he wouldn't be there with her, he'd be there with Henry- protecting him, teaching him, helping him understand and grieve and love. 

He was there in the hallway of Granny's little motel as she leaned against the doorframe to her room. He'd just returned a beaming, chattering Henry safely home to her, and her heart ached in her chest as her son’s words resurfaced before she could push them away:  
 _"Not every guy is just gonna leave you. He wants to be with you. Us. He wants us to be his home."_

God, he looked like home. She looked in his eyes and thought she could collapse into his embrace like she'd fallen into her bed after so many long days. He looked comfortable, like something she could rely on and look forward to coming back to over and over again.

He felt like home. When he'd do that bizarre but oh-so-enticing _step-sway-lean_ closer to her with his cheeky grin, she automatically leaned closer with a smirk of her own. He was where she could be defeated, lose hope, be hurt or heartbroken. With him, there was no pretending, no lies. He saw the real her- like only her apartment in New York saw her pink plaid pyjamas (but he'd seen those too). When his eyes searched hers, begging for understanding, she could imagine telling those eyes so easily, without a moment of hesitance, that she loved him- countless times. Like the words were stuck in her throat, and once she choked them out the first time, they'd come easily forever. 

_Forever._ That was a concept she'd only allowed herself to consider with him. Because she knew, without being told, that as long as she asked, he would stay. 

Maybe everyone else in her life had either left or sent her away- whether by choice or by circumstance, whether it was loving birth parents or cold foster parents or a first love or a second chance. But she’d long since given up on expecting him to do the same. She knew, she just knew. 

He would be there- yesterday, today, forever and always. 


End file.
